The Way of the Will
by Mawkish Warden
Summary: Without the tools of civilisation to help them stand, man was easy prey to the creatures of darkness. What caused them to overcome this was will: the will to fight, the will to die, and the will to rise. Now, when man's earliest struggles lay beneath a blanket of politics and technology, a young boy will find himself relying on something that requires a smaller, more honest soul.
1. Chapter 1 - Survivor

**A/N: Oh man, I hope I'm not making a mistake with the upload process here.**

 **So uh, first fic! Well, this is…I've never imagined myself posting a story on this site. Always enjoyed reading the content, but was never bold enough to produce it myself. This is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Here's hoping I don't look like too much of a fool.**

 **This is more of an experiment than anything right now. Think of it as me testing the waters with my writing. If it goes well, then that's great! If not…well, I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.**

 **Negative predictions aside, to anyone taking the time to read this first chapter, or even better, review it, thank you. Your mere action of clicking the title, or typing in a critique could be the very thing that opens up a whole new avenue for me on this site.**

 **Disclaimer: RWBY is the creation and property of Monty Oum (may he forever live on in our memories) and Rooster Teeth.**

* * *

 _Breathe in._

I can't move.

 _Breathe out._

My legs.

 _Breathe in._

They feel light.

 _Breathe out._

But I can't move them.

 _Breathe in._

Everything's numb.

 _Breathe out._

Is that something on my eye?

 _Breathe in._

If it's on my eye, why can't I see it?

 _Breathe out._

Where am I?

 _Breathe in._

It looks…bright.

 _Breathe out._

I'm tired

 _Breathe in._

I need to sleep.

 _Breathe out…_

Yes…sleep…

 _Breathe…in…_

…sleep…

… _Breathe…out…_

* * *

The two men watched as the boy nestled himself back into the slumber that he had briefly awoken from, courtesy of the new batch of sedatives that had been injected into his bloodstream. They both wore doctor coats, which were only a few shades lighter than the cream-coloured walls of the room they were in. Light from the ceiling's bulb hit their faces, revealing rings and crinkles of stress and fatigue on the skin. The silence between them was jagged, constantly interrupted by the various whirrs and beeps of machinery surrounding their person of interest.

Finally, one of them decided that he had remained mute for long enough and turned to his colleague.

"How is he?"

He didn't need to ask. They had both performed on the boy earlier on in the day, pumped him full of drugs before going to work on his body. The question was more to distract their minds from the sixteen or so hours they had been on the job for. Keep them from descending too far into the depths of exhaustion. Fortunately, the other man understood, and instead of snapping that he should already know, he replied in earnest.

"Stable, and likely to be so from here on. He'll have a few adjustments to get accustomed to when he properly wakes up."

The first one snorted. "Right. 'Cause that's what a trio of amputated limbs, a battered throat and a gouged eye qualify for nowadays: a fucking adjustment."

A smirk formed on his colleague's lips. "You must be more tired than I thought if I'm hearing you cuss within earshot of a patient.

He received a half-hearted shrug. "Eh, he's out cold right now. And besides, the last time I went for this long without sleep was when I was giving myself an aneurysm over my doctorate. And that makes me feel old, so you'll forgive me if I fumble a few bombs here and there."

"Of course. And I'll also make sure to tell your missus what a good influence you're being to the next generation."

It wasn't even that funny, but they laughed nonetheless, leading their minds to a better place. And for a moment, they relaxed; basking in the moment of innocent reprieve they had given themselves.

Then it was gone, as all the troubles of the world seemed to come crashing back down on their shoulders. Once more, they turned back to the sleeping boy with sombre expressions. This time, when they spoke, they didn't take their gazes off of him.

"He's gonna have a tough life, isn't he?"

"Yes. He'll need to relearn almost every action with the prosthetics, not to mention getting used to the new larynx and eye. That'll take at least a month, but we're confident he'll manage."

"You know that's not what I meant."

No answer.

"He's just a child…a child with no friends, no parents. He's going to be at a borderline prison with a regimented life for at least the next couple of years. And don't even get me started on the mental trauma."

Still no answer.

A sigh. "He'll have no one to look up to. No reason to live. We'll be lucky if he doesn't try to cut himself after the shock has sunk in."

At last, a response, but this time filled with a hint of irritation. "And what do you propose we do?"

"I don't know. Something. Anything that'll help ease him into his new life."

"We're specialists, not soothsayers. You and I both know we can do nothing for this boy beyond what we already have."

The first doctor's head lowered until he was looking at his feet. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists once, before letting his body loose.

"I know," he said.

Then he tensed up again, glancing to his colleague, then down, as if he was filled with a wave of energy that he didn't know where to release.

The second doctor placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"The psychs' will take care of him. They'll pick off where we left off."

He received a terse nod in agreement and released his hold and they both returned to the boy.

"This is fucked up."

"Hmm?"

"This whole…thing, with Mount Glenn. It's fucked up. And it's been eating away at me."

"Yes, it is."

"It's just…how did we screw up so bad?"

"I don't know...all I can do is take comfort in the fact that, against all the pain, and the suffering, and the death; we managed to save one more life."

"Do you think so?"

"I do."

"…he's gonna have a tough life, isn't he?"

A grunt.

"Yes…He probably is."

"Glad to see you know what I mean now."

"Hey, for all you know, I could just be too damn tired to argue with you again."

And just like that, the two were back in the same position they were a minute ago; standing side by side and joking with each other in an attempt to stay awake.

Except this time, one of them was wearing a smile. Not a smile of humour, or camaraderie.

Rather, a smile of hope.

"I've got a good feeling about this one, you know?"

"You just said that he was going to slit his wrists after he wakes up."

"I know, I know. And this could be some kind of coping mechanism to help me deal with all the drama and shit I've seen today. But I think if he can make it past it this…this initial bump, he's gonna go on to do some great things in life."

"That's an unusually optimistic view, coming from you."

"I'm serious! He'll struggle, there's no denying that. But I think he's gonna have a real impact on our world. Call it a gut feeling."

A chuckle.

"If you say so. Either way, that was the last patient we had to check on, and I'm ready to collapse. I reckon it's about time we went home, had a nice shower and pass out until Monday."

The second doctor turned and made to head for the room's exit. A few footsteps later, he stopped, noticing that the first one wasn't following.

"You coming?" he asked.

The recipient to his query jerked, as if he was wrenching himself out of a trance. He shook his head slightly. "Yeah." He hastily went to join him at the door and they made their way out.

Before leaving, he gave one last stare at the boy, taking in the youth's figure one last time. His eyes lingered over three stumps of his arm and legs, still prominent beneath the aqua blanket that had been placed over them, and the patches covering his throat and right eye.

"Good luck kid," he muttered.

Then he shut the door.

* * *

 _To the citizens of Vale._

 _It is with utmost regret that I, Councillor Severax, on behalf of the Vale Council, must inform the people of a national tragedy._

 _Yesterday, at 8:30 in the morning, a mining operation from the subterranean populace of Mountain Glenn inadvertently uncovered and unleashed a horde of Grimm on the inhabitants._

 _The local defence force responded quickly and valiantly, coordinating with the main city, as well as Hunters stationed within the area, to enact their contingency plan of an Emergency Evacuation through the underground, back to the Central Vale._

 _It was with incomprehensible misfortune, however, that through a combination of unfamiliar infrastructure, miscommunication and sheer luck that the evacuation failed to bring the majority of Mountain Glenn's people through the tunnels._

 _Out of the ten thousand men and women present at the evacuation, one hundred and seventy three were able to escape, the names of which will be released within the next twelve hours after they have been properly identified._

 _To the survivors of Mountain Glenn, and those affected by this terrible event, I can give you nothing but my most sincere condolences._

 _That is all._

 **Councillor Stratus Severax's formal address to the people of Vale on The Fall of Mountain Glenn; three days before his, along with Councillor Pluto Meesh and Councillor Loran Doyle's simultaneous resignations from the Vale Council.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Husk

**A/N: Ok, second chapter here, no flames yet. Good, good. Let's see how short I can make that last.**

 **Disclaimer: RWBY is the creation and property of Monty Oum (may he forever live on in our memories) and Rooster Teeth.**

* * *

The room was quite commodious. On its beige fur carpet, lay an arrangement of chairs and couches, serving to make a rectangular outline against a stocky glass table. A floor lamp stood at one of the corners, turned off in favour of letting the sun's rays light up the room through its wall window. Despite being inanimate, the contents of the room seemed to mesh together, fitting comfortably with each other to form a friendly atmosphere, supplemented by the soft hum of the air conditioner that had been built into the ceiling.

The relative silence was broken when the door to the room swung open to let through two figures, chatting amiably in the middle of a conversation. The one in the lead was a middle-aged woman, dressed in smart casual attire, long brown hair in a ponytail and carrying a suitcase in her right hand. Following her was a boy, perhaps thirty or so years younger; clad a less conspicuous white hospital shirt and pants. More noticeable, however, were the artificial portions of his body.

Where there would be muscle and bone, there was plastic and carbon fibre. Where there would be blood vessels transporting oxygen, there were conduits conveying dust. Where there would be human, there was machine.

A mechanical arm. A pair of synthetic legs. A manufactured larynx. A bionic eye.

A hybrid.

He moved with a certain roughness that was stiff and unfamiliar, the painstakingly methodical bending of a joint periodically interrupted by a hasty twitch that threatened to topple his entire form. Yet he kept his balance, moving at a speed that allowed him to stay with the woman's, admittedly slow, pace.

"They said I should be ok with them in a week." His voice, when used, came with an artificial layer, threading the intricate tones of speech with the distorted and automated distinctions of a construct attempting to replicate such.

They moved to the set of chairs and couches, leaving imprints of their feet in the fur carpet that would level out after a few minutes.

The woman smiled. "That's great to hear. Must be exciting to know you'll be running and jumping around again soon."

Sitting down across each other with a familiarity born out of repetition, the boy blinked a few times, flicking his eyelid over a glowing green 'iris', before answering. "Exciting? I guess so."

"Well, since it's been a month, I think it would be a good time to reassess your DAS scales. That is, if you're comfortable doing it again?"

A month ago, yes. When he had been stuck in a wheelchair, unable to use the tools they had used to fix his mangled body, barely able to formulate a word with his new throat, eyes dancing around in a cruel mixture of wonder and fear.

"I am."

"Alright then. Same as before; I'm going to read out a set of statements to you. After each one, give me a number from zero to three, with zero meaning that you don't think the statement applied to you at all and three, that you think it's quite accurate in describing you. Ready?"

"Yes."

"Okay. First one: I found myself getting upset by quite trivial things."

"One."

The woman tapped once on her Scroll, most likely entering the number he had said.

"I was aware of the dryness of my throat."

"Two."

 _Tap._

"I couldn't seem to experience any positive feeling at all."

"Three."

 _Tap._

"I experienced difficulty breathing."

"Zero."

 _Tap._

"I just couldn't seem to work up motivation."

"Two."

 _Tap._

"I tended to overreact to situations."

"Zero."

 _Tap._

The process continued on for the next ten minutes, with the woman assigning various statements, and the boy elaborating on their accuracy. After she asked the final clarification, she pressed a few keys on her Scroll and took a brief moment to analyse the results that popped up.

"Well, there seems to be a marginal improvement in a few areas, at least. Your depression levels are still at a fairly high rating, but your anxiety and stress levels have decreased into the 'moderate' range. What do you think about this?"

The boy stared at the woman. Where an unfamiliar receiver would have felt uncomfortable, she took the long look in stride, drawing from past experience to recognise that he was in deep thought, pulling her words apart and analysing them in a way that her Scroll had done with the numbers she had inputted not seconds ago.

"I think a month ago, I was still scared. I was in a new place. I had new parts. There were new people. It was… confusing. Now, I think I've gotten used to it."

The woman nodded. "That's good," she said, "knowing, or at least partially knowing, what is going on inside your mind and being willing to acknowledge it is a big positive with any patient."

The boy nodded back, wordlessly agreeing.

"Of course, this also brings forth the question of whether you-"

"I haven't."

The woman leant back into her chair, slightly perturbed with the boy's premature answer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"And you're not trying to hide anything from me?"

"No."

She sighed, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of her nose. "Well then, I suppose there's not much we can do, but try once more. Again, that is if you're not opposed?"

"I'm not."

"Okay. Let's begin with the basics."

The boy sank into his own chair, closing his eyes, and spoke.

"My name is Rain Cinereous. I was born eleven years ago at Cradle Hospital in Mount Glenn, Vale. My parents were Gale Cinereous and Jade Garcia-Cinereous."

"Go on," the woman coaxed.

"I was right handed. My eyes were both green. My hair is black. My hobbies included reading and drawing. I lived in a flat in Apartment 212 and went to Reach Primary School."

"A month ago, my home was attacked by Grimm. The army and police tried to take my family back to the main city, but they were all killed."

He halted his exposition, out of material to present.

"Did that trigger anything?"

"No."

He opened his eyes and gazed at the woman.

"I'm…frustrated."

"At what?"

"At my recovery."

She didn't ask for an elaboration.

"How long have I been here?"

"Five weeks, give or take a day."

"Have I gotten better in five weeks? And I don't mean with my legs or anything like that."

She didn't say anything.

"I've lost my entire life. I can't remember my parents. I can't remember my friends, or if I had any friends. I can't even remember my name. The doctors had to tell me all of that. My home…it's gone. And I don't even feel bad about that."

He lifted a hand, the mechanical one, in front of his eyes, and flexed the fingers, making a clenched fist, then an open palm.

"What am I? I have a name, but I don't have memories. I'm a person, but I have robot parts. I'm not sure of anything, there's nothing I can land on. I'm…"

He sighed, searching the juvenile vocabulary he had retained for a word that could articulate his feelings, "…lost." His brows furrowed at his choice. It still hadn't sound right.

The woman began to say something, but he cut her off.

"Can we stop this one here? I'm sorry, but I need to think."

A moment passed, as the woman considered his blunt request. Eventually, she relented and the two stood up, making their way to the door. Before the boy could go out, she put a hand on his arm, causing him to tense slightly at the contact.

"Rain, you need to understand that you're in a very controversial area of medicine and science." He didn't look at her, but his eyes flickered down, then left and right.

"You may not feel like you're healing right now, but please, try to give it some time. Maybe, one day, when your mind thinks you're ready, you'll remember. And if it doesn't, you can move on. As a person. A good person that, despite the overwhelming circumstances, has chosen to push on. And know that we are doing everything we can to help you get there."

He didn't answer.

"Okay?" She prompted.

Another period of silence, before he let out a deep breath.

"I'll try." It wasn't a confirmation, but it was as good as one as she was going to get.

She let go, and gave him a small smile. "Then I'll let you get back to your room."

He nodded, and walked out.

* * *

Rain grimaced as he walked, trying to push the feeling of his mechanical legs pressing onto the stumps of his real ones into the back of his mind. While the absorbent gel and lining he wore did provide somewhat of a reprieve, they came with their own strange feelings. Not enough to offset their utility, but enough to be labelled a nuisance, if a novel one.

And, of course, his arm. The weight was more than a little offsetting. He would just have to get used to it, or wait it out until he grew enough to warrant another, hopefully lighter one.

He had memorised the route from the psychologist's office to his room. That tended to happen when one recited the directions under their breath every time they went through a route. It helped to keep him focused and not trip over, like he had done so many times before.

With a fixed mind, he moved, occasionally shifting to the left or to let a priority patient or group through. He ignored the stares and mutters his machine parts drew, not stopping until he reached his destination.

A door stood in front of him, the panel on it presenting RESIDENT ROOM E-99. He pressed his hand to it, letting the ID scanner know that it was him. When the panel turned green, the sound of a lock opening signalled him to push it open and go inside.

Overlooking the evening meal that had been set on his bed, Rain went into the bathroom, shedding his clothes and leaving them in the laundry basket. He went to the sink, and crouched to retrieve a towel and change of clothes from the cupboard underneath. Standing back up, he found himself halt and glance at the mirror.

The first time he had seen the scars, they had terrified him, now they filled him with more of a sick, twisted intrigue. Four straight lines starting shallow at the top of his head, then running progressively deeper until they were at the bottom of his nose or the top of his lips. His hand lifted, almost subconsciously, placing a finger at each of them, retracing the old wounds until they ran out.

He moved his gaze away from the mirror, and began the process of disconnecting his arm. A touchscreen, where the forearm would be, activated at with tap, and he selected the option 'DETATCH', entering in the key code to verify the command. He felt the adhesive gel layer depressurise and had to grab the limb before it hit the ground.

He set it, and the clothes on the ground and walked into the shower. Sitting down, he unhooked the showerhead before repeated the same process with his legs. Placing them next to his 'arm', he closed his eyes and turned the water on.

 **TWOTW**

When he was finished, Rain crawled out of the shower, making sure not to drip over the cybernetics. With a grunt, he grabbed the towel and soaked it with the water covering his body, paying close attention to the stumps. When he had deemed himself to be dry enough, he laid them flat on the ground and pressed them, one by one, into the machinery, remerging them.

He walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed, and sat down on his bed, next to the tray of mashed potatoes, meatloaf, vegetables and bread. He avoided the food and went for the plastic cup of water instead, draining the liquid in one go. Turning to his right, he grabbed a remote that had been resting on his bedside table.

He pointed it in front of him, at the small television that had come with the room, and turned it on. There usually wouldn't be much that he would be interested in, this late, but Rain never liked just eating on his own. The sound would help the food go down the oesophagus, which still felt strange, now that it was sharing space with a metal voice box.

" _-is here is the Ultimate Rancho Relaxo-9000! Bringing you easy, portable and durable comfort in the toughest of environments."_

He clicked the cycle channel arrow.

" _Later he gets the rebound, passes it to the man. And boom goes the dynamite!"_

 _Click._

" _That's our final offer Mr Sway: 51%, or nothing. You really wanna-"_

 _Click._

" _This afternoon saw the opening of the Mountain Glenn memorial."_

That got his attention. Letting the remote down, Rain fixed his eyes on the screen, idly forking a piece of meatloaf into his mouth.

" _The opening was attended by thousands, including several dignitaries of Vale, many of whom spoke to the people that day. One particularly controversial speech was made by Professor Ozpin of Beacon Academy, who made an accusation to Hunters from all over Remnant of becoming complacent and arrogant."_

The screen cut to a recorded shot of a man standing behind a speaking podium. He was quite tall, featuring tousled grey hair on an angled face. His attire included a pair of tinted spectacles and a black suit that was worn over a buttoned vest and a dark green shirt, which contrasted quite well with his light complexion.

He wore a melancholy expression, the muscles on his face loose and eyes partially lidded. He cast a look to what must have been the attendees, pushed his glasses up, and began to speak.

" _In the weeks following The Fall of Mountain Glenn, there have been many words attributed to it by the people, in an attempt to describe what it represents: tragedy, defeat, massacre, and much more. But there is one word that stands out above all. Failure."_

" _The Fall of Mountain Glenn was a failure for so many. It was a failure for the Council, who encouraged citizens to continue migrating into such a dangerous area. It was a failure for the field commanders during the evacuation, who were insufficiently prepared for such a large-scale withdrawal. It was a failure for the people of Mountain Glenn, who were too stubborn to leave the dangers their homes held to their lives."_

" _And it was a failure for me, and every single Hunter on Remnant that day, who failed to uphold our duty to the people."_

" _Hunters are the embodiment of the best of mankind. Out of a sea of normality, they rise; faster, stronger, smarter than the rest; pledging their bodies and minds to a lifetime of servitude. We are seen as heroes, beings that have ascended to a higher plane, immortals, even."_

" _But we are not. Despite the vision our world paints us in, too many have forgotten that we are still people. Exceptionally skilled and resilient people, yes. But still people."_

" _From our birth after the Great War, we have been tasked with the directive of keeping our borders safe from the Grimm. In upholding that task, we have grown distant from the very essence of what we are protecting. In becoming the personalities that the media, and ourselves, depict us as, our blades have dulled to the draw of complacency, satisfied with the decades of peace our predecessors fought so hard to bring us; a dulling, which my academy, and academies across Remnant, has failed to address."_

" _And it took the needless deaths of over nine thousand people, including eleven of Remnant's most elite combatants, to drive this point home to me."_

" _For now, we bleed, along with the rest of Vale, and Remnant, continuing to grieve for our losses, and nursing injuries. But there will be a time, in the near future, when the some of the pain subsides, and is replaced by something stronger."_

" _And when that time arrives, we will look to the world with a new maturity, weathered by loss, yet strengthened through resolve. And I give a promise to the people that we will learn. We will learn from this terrible event, to adapt our Huntsmen and Huntresses, to constantly reform our ways of fighting, so that we may save just one more life. And, until the day where the struggle between our people and the Grimm can finally be resolved, we will stand strong. Not as luminaries or celebrities, but as one of you."_

The newscaster's face returned to the screen, rambling on about how others had seen the headmaster's words to be from confronting to disrespectful, but Rain didn't hear her. He was too busy processing what he had said.

There was something building up at the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure what it was, or why it was occurring. All he knew was that it was small, but powerful and growing larger, taking his very being and lifting it up. His eyes widened, as the feeling reached his chest, filling it with an invisible strength. A part of him was confused, and a little bit scared, not knowing what this new sensation was. But that part was soon overshadowed by something more potent, more formidable than fear.

It would take him years to realise this, but when Rain eventually reflected back to this day, he would recognise that it was hope.

* * *

 _He's been a…unique circumstance for me. For all of us, I daresay. The big part is, of course his selective amnesia, except that in this case, it's chosen quite a wide variety of things to forget, or repress. Linguistically, he is more than capable of speaking what's on his mind. It's sorting out what he's feeling that is the problem._

 _He has openly admitted to repressing some of his emotions, the key word being 'some'. He appears to find a certain comfort in negative sensations, anger being the chief contender. And while that may be hazardous to him, it also seems to be the only thing keeping him going, like a sort of underlying vitriolic motivator._

 _I would recommend up to a Bravo Level of surveillance for him, advanced bio-scanners in his room for good measure. He'll know it's there, but he won't object to it, as long as I've told him about it first._

 _Yes, he's…not strange, but different like that. He understands the necessity of these measures. Again, he's very open to what he thinks, and speaks his mind without hesitation. It'll be a little too direct for normal society, but I have this inkling that…somehow he won't try anything. When I first spoke with him, he was displaying shock and fear. But over time, he was able to systematically break that shock down, bit by bit; almost like he was taking what little foundations he had of himself apart, until there was nothing left._

 _I was getting to that. I don't think he's a machine. Yes, there's a cold, logical side to him. But that anger I mentioned before? It's almost like a spark of energy, a burning sense of righteous fury buried underneath the shell he's constructed around him, just waiting to be released. With anyone else, I'd say that it's dangerous, liable to getting into trouble in the future. With him, I say that it'll still be dangerous, and probably get him into trouble, but for the right reasons._

 _Yes, I suppose so. I've just never really met a boy like him. He has an air about him, someone with great potential that I'd hate to lose. I trust you'll keep him safe when I'm not with him? Alright, alright. Thanks Harper, bye._

 **Sound file from Security Camera No D82, installed in Dr F. Harmon's office. Spoken dialogue confirmed to be a call from Dr F. Harmon to Mr J. Harper of Lift Hospital's Suicide Watch Sub-Section.**


	3. Chapter 3 - Aspirant

**A/N: Line breaks…it took me three chapters to realise I wasn't using proper line breaks, ugh. Welp, they don't call them rookie errors for nothing.**

 **Disclaimer: RWBY is the creation and property of Monty Oum (may he forever live on in our memories) and Rooster Teeth.**

* * *

Doctor Felicia Harmon was many things; including an intelligent woman, a graduate of Vale State University and a winner of her hometown's annual cooking competition (she often neglected to mention that there were only four competitors that year, one of which was down with a cold, but she won dammit!). But chief among the things she would be proud to call herself was a mother. Giving birth to two daughters and a son gave her a sort of practical experience that no amount of degrees, internships or residencies could hope to replicate. It kept her on her toes, to expect the unexpected when it came to the pre-pubescent. Of course, the paradoxical nature of such an action made such an endeavour quite difficult, but Felicia liked to think that she was prepared for any amount of shenanigans that the little ones could throw at her.

And then Rain had to come in and blow that perception right out the window.

"I'm sorry Rain, but could you repeat that?"

"I want to become a Huntsman."

Along with two decades of training and education, and quite possibly her train of thought, if the next syllable to come out of her mouth was any indication.

"Um…"

Yep, there it went. Choo-Choo-Crash! Maybe she shouldn't have skipped out on her morning coffee today. Well, nothing like a bit of improv to crank her brain into functioning properly. "That's a very ambitious career choice you've selected Rain, but might I ask why?"

He was pausing to formulate his answer. Good. That gave her time to pick up the pieces.

"I'm not sure."

Never mind, time's up. "Alright then, can you tell me when you made this decision?"

"I…" he looked down. "It was last night. After our session."

Hmm, maybe it was something they had discussed.

"I saw something on the news."

Then again, maybe not.

"A man called Ozpin…"

Oh.

"…the headmaster of-"

"-Beacon Academy." she finished before she could stop herself. This was going to be interesting.

"Do you know him?"

"In a sense. Years ago, I worked at his institution as part of my practical training. He was a very interesting man. Gave some new perspectives that I hadn't considered before."

"I think that happened to me last night, about giving me a perspective."

"What did he say?" She'd heard of the speech that he had done at the opening, but never got to hear it herself.

"He said a lot of things. He said that The Fall was a failure for everyone, including himself. Then he talked about the Hunters becoming lazy and bigheaded and he wanted to make them better. He said he would change them, make them see that they were still people."

Ah, there it was: reassurance, a need to find one's identity in face of loss and despair, something that the headmaster had implied to be capable of accomplishing. "Yes, I can see why that would've caught your attention. But to suddenly inspire the level of intent, to where you are prepared to swear yourself to a life of danger and fighting; there must be something more, Rain."

He leaned sideways, resting an elbow on the couch's arm and holding his head up with a hand. "It's…I don't know. What he said…it caused something. Something I've never felt before," he frowned, "or never remember feeling before."

Felicia hesitated. Had it been any other child, she would have chalked their spontaneous choice in career as just that, nothing more than wishful thinking that would fade away as they grew up. But in the short time she had known Rain he had shown her different. If he said he wanted to be a Huntsman, then he had a reason beyond juvenile fulfilment.

Despite her faith in the boy, she was also cautious as to what the underlying catalyst was. She knew that Rain was more than aware of what a career of a Hunter looked like. Such a profession entailed more than waving a gun in the faces of monsters. He knew, better than anyone his age that becoming a Hunter meant consigning oneself to the possibility of a very messy end. The Hunters that had perished in The Fall could attest to that. Perhaps he wanted to learn to defend himself, so that he would never be struck down so vulnerably. Or perhaps it was a cross between anomic and altruistic suicide. To choose one of the few jobs in the world where deaths were looked upon as a brutal necessity and relieve himself of the emotional baggage he was carrying. Permanently. Her next evaluation would depend very heavily on how he would answer her following questions.

"Can you describe this feeling to me?"

"Powerful," he said immediately. Not the most reassuring answer, but she was sure she could draw more out of him.

"Powerful in what sense?" she asked.

He lifted a hand to his chest, gently pressing down with his fingers. "Powerful, like I knew something was going to happen, something good. Like there was something pulling me up. It made me feel so many things at once. Made me want to do so many things at once."

He rose, almost unconsciously, out of his seated position, and limped over to the window, letting his gaze fall upon the metropolitan sprawl below. His eyes swept from left to right, taking in the roads and sky rises, accompanied by the occasional airship, assembled across the landscape, and a wistful look came across his face.

"I felt like there was some purpose I'd given myself. Direction. It burned me-no" he hastily corrected, "it washed me. My anxiety, my fears, my frustration, it washed it away. Even for only a moment, it washed them away. It made me feel right."

He turned away from the window and locked his gaze with her, the light from the window highlighting the diagonal scars of flesh, their lengths cut in half by the shell and circuitry of his eye. "It made me feel alive."

Well, son of a gun, Ozpin had done it again. Leaning back into her seat and raising a hand to cup her chin, Felicia couldn't help but let a small smile grace her lips. "Rain, do you understand what you've done?"

He shook his head in the negative.

"You've just come across something very important to you," she said.

He blinked, surprised by her declaration. "What is it?"

She motioned for him to sit back down. When he was in front of her, again, instead of directly answering him, she asked a question of her own. "Do you want to become a Huntsman?"

A frown of confusion appeared on his face, but he complied simply enough. "Yes."

"More than anything?"

"Yes."

"But you're confused as to why?"

"…yes"

"Then I'm afraid I can't tell you."

The frown deepened. "Why?" he asked.

Her smile faltered, taking a more pensive expression, "Because this is something, where it really is better for you to come to terms with."

His frown remained. He hadn't understood her answer. She hadn't expected him to.

"I'll put forward a request for you to be placed under a training regime." She could see something spark in his eyes as his brows rose in anticipation, and her smile returned to its previous upbeat nature. "You'll get a chance, Rain."

He went to stand up again, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. "But for now, if you want that to happen, you need to continue healing. The road to becoming a Huntsman is a long one. Won't do for you to break yourself early on." She felt the shoulder sink and held back a chuckle. Mature or not, the boy could still display the boundless, if slightly more refined, enthusiasm she saw in her own son. There was still a chance for him.

A chance for him to find the will to live.

* * *

 _Avantgarde Industries has made its way into Remnant as the leading producer of military bionics, after its new line of 'B7' prosthetics passed the acceptance trials in Atlas' Proving Grounds with flying colours. Its various replications of the body's limbs, while unavailable to civilians for the foreseeable future, have been scheduled to begin entering the armouries of Atlas' military, as well as become available to Hunters across Remnant within the year. Its combination of multilayered composite alloys and molecular fibre structure have ensured that those fitted with the B7s have been able to keep up with, and in some cases surpass the capabilities of those with flesh and blood, placing it years ahead of current artificial limbs._

 _The introduction of the B7s, however, has also sparked a round of criticism across the Kingdoms outside of Atlas. Particular scrutiny is being directed at how, after their success in amalgamating its government, military and academies into one entity, the economical induction of Avantgarde Industries seems to be just one of a series of conformist and martial ideals that Atlas appears to be displaying to the people of Remnant. Yet, there is no denying that the prosthetics have brought forth new opportunities in the Kingdom's defence forces, allowing soldiers, who have suffered from grievous injuries in the line of duty to, if they choose so, continue their service with full physical capability._

 _ **Lisa Lavender, anchorwoman of Vale News Network.**_


	4. Chapter 4 - Pupil

**A/N – Volume 3's finale was pretty much the final nail in the coffin for me.**

 **Not in a bad way. I think I was just in denial on the new direction that Miles and Kerry have decided to take the series in. After two volumes of mostly going 'good guys win, Ra! Ra!', I really didn't expect much different, and was even enjoying it. And when shit hit the fan in the Vytal Festival, I kept thinking that the series had hit its emotional rock bottom and the next episode would contain something that would bring it back to 'happy' times.**

 **I'm probably going to get a few yells for this, but Episode 12 was amazing; much richer than the finisher to Volume 2 at least. The animation, the sound, the voice acting, and the story, all mixed together to tie the bow on RWBY's most successful Volume yet. But** _ **holy shit**_ **if it didn't hit like a ton of bricks; again, probably because I was in denial.**

 **Rooster Teeth, you've done an incredible job continuing what Monty has started. The level of dedication you put into this Volume, from the tribute in the first scene to Jen Taylor's monologue in the finale far outstripped anything you had done before in this series. And us writers, from the lowly underlings like me to the giants like Coeur and Phantom, will wait, typing away at our computers in the lead-up to Volume 4. We'll keep the fandom alive and thriving, and we eagerly await what you will bring us next.**

 **Disclaimer: RWBY is the creation and property of Monty Oum (may he forever live on in our memories) and Rooster Teeth.**

* * *

Rain let out a grunt of surprise as he collapsed onto the grass beneath him.

"Son, I don't even want to know what you call that, but it sure as hell ain't a push up."

"Arm…malfunction…" he ground out, rolling his body so that he was now lying on his back, free to look up at the clear blue sky and its bright yellow sun. He was dimly aware of a slight breeze passing over his face, cooling the immense amount of perspiration that had formed on the skin.

"Grimm ain't gonna let you call a time out if your servos lock up." A set of footfalls, muffled by the pastoral landscape thumped over to him until Rain saw a tall figure, slightly silhouetted as he stood in front of the light, looming over him. He crouched beside the boy, hands examining the shorted out limb. "Looks like one of the circuit breakers kicked in. You must have been putting too much of a strain on it."

Rain groaned. That was the third time this week. "Remind me why I can't get a set of limbs that's above minimal civilian-grade? One that won't give out on me when I try to do something?"

The man didn't stop in his ministrations, stripping off an outer panel to reveal the arm's main power junction. "Because these things don't come cheap, doubly so for people like you living off of just taxpayer money." He flipped a few switches, continuing his mantra, the contents of it memorised through repetition. "You want a better arm?" The arm jerked to life as dust began to flow through it again. "You're gonna have to have a special recommendation submitted to the Hunter Board of Studies." He stepped back, as Rain gave a few experimental hand clenches. "A recommendation that I'll be sorely tempted to not give if you don't get back to your push ups in the next three seconds."

With a roll of his eyes, Rain returned to facing the grass, bracing flesh and metal hands against the verdant ground.

"Down!"

He bent his arms and lowered himself, feeling the pressure building up in his elbows as they bore his centre of mass. He stopped a few centimetres from the ground, grass tickling his face.

"Up!"

Letting out a breath of exertion, he straightened his arms, keeping his head parallel to surface.

It had been just over three months since Rain had first regained consciousness and looked down at his battered body. For the past few weeks, he had been delegated to a training regime dedicated to making him fit enough to be considered for a spot in one of the preparatory combat schools. At first it was tough, still was if he was being completely honest, but Rain would have liked to think that he was now making steady progress with his physique.

It also helped that his personal trainer had been in a similar situation to him too.

Marcus Teach Kelly, a former Vale Army Infantryman who had received a medical discharge after having both of his legs blown off in an operation four years prior. Grizzled, experienced and approaching his fifties, he was a self-proclaimed grumpy old man, who just happened to be stubborn enough to not bleed out when he should have. Not the most encouraging fit for Rain…at first glance at least.

The two of them turned out to click quite nicely. When he had first seen the man, Rain had been more than a little intimidated. Marcus had been saddled with helping the stiff and timid child's body develop to the point where he could be cleared for combat school. And while he had to admit that their early interactions were rather awkward, with Marcus giving instructions most of the time and Rain just nodding along in compliance, over time Rain had warmed up to him, even taking on board some of the veteran's snark.

But not even camaraderie would stop him from literally working the wannabe Hunter into the ground.

"Hold it! Hold it! Aaaaaaaand…break!"

With a fascinating expel of air and obscenities, Rain flopped onto his stomach, voluntarily this time at least, and nestled his head into one of the small trenches his hands had dug in during the push ups.

"Not bad. Give it a few centuries and you'll be rocking it with the rest of those Hunter hot shots!" Marcus grinned.

"Rrrgh dnnn hphh a phew tsendurees Mrrgusf."

"What was that son? I'm afraid you'll have to speak up."

Rain raised his head, lacking the resolve to move anything below the neck, and spat out a mix of crushed dirt and shredded grass. "I don't have a few centuries Marcus." Even when being projected through a 'toy Adam's Apple', as the former soldier liked to put it, he could still hear the irritation seeping out of Rain's mouth.

"Oooooh, that's right, you're a human! Forgot about that. Oh well, looks like I'll have to ramp up your conditioning even further. How does cramming a thousand hours worth of suicide runs in the next thirty minutes sound to you?"

"Like an act of child abuse?"

Marcus clapped his hands once. "Good! Now, break's gonna be over in the next-" he lifted his bare wrist to look at the face of a watch that wasn't there, "-seven seconds. If I were you, I'd start getting up."

Rain didn't have the heart to protest any further.

* * *

"Alright, that's enough for today! Let's bring it in!"

With a stumble of movement akin to a zombie, Rain took a few steps before fully succumbing to gravity and wordlessly face planting into the dirt. Marcus smirked as he closed the distance between the two of them. He poked the boy in the side with one of his metal toes.

"You alright there, son?"

"That hurts."

"So does laying down after sprinting. Up you get!" With a token grunt of effort, he lifted the boy by the armpits and propped him into a standing position. Holding him steady for the next few seconds, Marcus reached into the portable cooler he had brought earlier and took out a bottle of water. He passed it to Rain, who barely gave a nod of thanks before uncapping and downing it in one go.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes." Rain replied, taking a few deep breaths as his heart rate stabilised. He made to hand the bottle back to Marcus, but stopped midway. Glancing down at the plastic material, then at the cooler, he tossed the bottle with his prosthetic arm, watching as it went in with a _crunch_ of hitting the ice inside.

"Good shot." Marcus said.

"Yeah…good."

The ex-soldier raised a brow. "Something on your mind?"

Rain hesitated, shifting his weight from one leg to another. "Sort of."

"Hmm." Marcus picked up the cooler and motioned for him to follow. "Come on. We'll walk and talk on the way back to main building."

The two began to walk out of the field. Around them, they could see other patients from the hospital. Some were on one of the many benches, conversing with one another, or having a moment of peace with the outdoors. Others were exercising, although with nowhere near the intensity that Rain had been going at; just a fast walk at most to keep the body's inner workings healthy in a way that no amount of modern medicine could achieve. They remained in silence until they were about halfway from the field's edge.

"How did you handle losing your legs?"

Marcus blinked. Rain had, until now, maintained a tactful, almost fearful, distance when it came to discussing his past. To see the boy blurt out such a personal question was…new.

Rain must have come to a similar conclusion, judging from how quickly he was backtracking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No," he interjected. Considering the circumstances, he supposed that it would only have been a matter of time before such questions were thrown. "It's okay, 'bout time we had this discussion anyway."

"How did I handle my new legs? Not good," he admitted ruefully. "At first, I didn't wanna accept these," he tapped a knee joint, "things. For about half a year, I was in rehab, like you. Got diagnosed with a pretty bad case of depression. No PTSD, but I wouldn't be surprised if I had become an alcoholic, or something. But the hospital doesn't serve that kind of stuff."

They had reached the doors of the main building, standing aside to let an elderly woman in a wheelchair out first, he continued, a slight grin touching his face. "I keep in contact with some of my brothers back in the army when I can. They helped a lot. Stopped me from slipping down even further than I already had."

Reaching the lift that would take them to the permanent resident rooms, Marcus pressed the 'up' button, exchanging waves with one of the receptionists. "But it wasn't enough. My career was done. Sure, I could have lived on pensions and veteran benefits, but I couldn't see much point in life."

The lift doors opened and they stepped in. Marcus leant his frame on one of the handrails and blew out a sigh. "It got to the point where I would just lay in bed, all day, looking at the TV with a blank stare and occasionally opening my mouth for food. Therapy sessions didn't go over well either. Pretty hard to make progress with someone who doesn't want to help themself. Or maybe I just got paired with the wrong one."

As the lift ascended, he rotated his body, so that his lower back instead of his hip was touching the steel bar. "So yeah, like I said, not good."

Rain watched him curiously, hand occasionally moving to wipe the remaining beads of sweat from his face. "But you're not like that now?"

The veteran snorted. "'Course not." His eyes rose to the floor-counter, which was rapidly approaching Rain's floor. "Someone had to snap me out of it."

The lift _dinged_ and the two stepped through the open doors. "I don't know who it was. I was stumbling back to my room after another session with my psychologist when I saw someone crying in the waiting room. It was a man, a father, bawling his eyes out without a care in the world who saw him."

As they moved through the various corridors, Rain could see the older man's eyes glaze over slightly, like he had been placed on autopilot and was speaking on reflex. "He looked so sad, so pitiful. I don't even know what he was crying about. But I think I have a pretty good idea."

Marcus turned to Rain, looking him dead in the eye. "He didn't just look miserable. He looked destroyed. Like his entire life had been torn apart and there was nothing he could do but watch. Think about it, what in the world can possibly make a man, a father break down like that?"

Not waiting to see if Rain knew, he gave the answer. "A child. Whether because of miscarriage or some other accident, he had just lost a son, or a daughter. Maybe the mother too."

"I stood there watching that poor sod for who knows how long." The older man grimaced, palming a hand to his forehead. "When I went to sleep that night, my dreams were full of his wails of anguish, the tears from his eyes drowning me as they fell like an endless waterfall."

"There was a time Rain," he said, "when us soldiers were _meant_ to kill people. During the Great War, scenes like this were all too common, where a lone survivor would be found in the middle of a bombed out house, rocking back and forth, calling out the names of his loved ones. But nowadays, we're mostly relieved from having to shoot another person; a mercy that I'm always glad for."

He placed his hands behind his head, turning it side to side to loosen a kink in his neck. "But it's also disconnected us from the job our parents and grandparents took up in their own time, of what we have been spared. And seeing that man just shatter…it brought something down on me. Made me get my act together and push on."

He gave a smile to the boy, half-hearted as it was. "I'm too old and broken to be of any use on the front lines. But I can still do my part to help keep getting people there."

By the time he had finished his exposition, the two had reached the entrance to E-wing, where Rain's room would be. "You okay to make it from here?" Marcus asked, receiving a nod in the affirmative. "Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow, oh-seven hundred." He began to walk away.

"Marcus?"

The veteran turned to face Rain again, noting the boy's uncertain features. "Yeah?"

"Do you really think I'll get there? To combat school, and the front lines?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's attempt at using his jargon. "Well, I wouldn't be able to give you any guarantees." He saw shoulders slump in acceptance.

"Then again, you never can, when it comes to fighting. But I think you've got the potential for it." And with that, he strode off, not even having to look back to register the look of elation that had formed the boy's face.

* * *

 _It's not often that you wish your enemy had been smarter. Especially when your main enemy is a soulless beast that could kill you in a single swipe. But we weren't fighting Grimm, not this time at least. We were fighting terrorists._

 _My platoon was being cycled out from its position on Vale's outer walls, near the commercial district. Our Peregrine transports were just taking off when we caught a small airship on radar bearing down on us. Our escort craft moved to intercept and instructed it to alter its course, but it kept on coming. Then, just as they were about to give it one final warning, the damn thing accelerated like nothing I'd ever seen before. The fighters and turrets on the walls tried to shoot it down, but I could see it was already going to reach our transport, no matter how much damage they did to it._

 _Our sergeant told us to brace as the pilot tried to move out of the craft's flight path. But it still managed to clip a wing and we went spinning out of the air and into Forever Fall. Made a nice little clearing in the trees with the metal chassis. Fortunately, our harnesses stopped us from getting too banged up, and we started climbing out of the wreckage as soon as we could._

 _That was when we heard them. Twenty people, wearing masks over their faces and screaming bloody murder as they came out of the trees._

 _The White Fang has always been a touchy subject. This was one of the first times they had struck out against society militarily, and definitely the first time they were so bold as to target the actual military. Personally, I can understand where they're coming from. All the discrimination and subjugation they've faced since whoever knows how long…it'd be enough to make a saint lash out. I can see that, at heart, they're a group of people, not animals, that just want some justice. And I can respect them for that._

 _Of Course, that doesn't mean they're not terrorists as well. And it sure as hell didn't stop me from putting a three-round burst into one of their chests as they were charging at my squad._

 _There were only three of us out of the Peregrine at that point, but we were able to drop four of them before they reached melee range._

 _They could have stayed back and shot at us, but that would have taken too long. They seemed to know that, between our superior weapons and armour, and our conditioned aura, they needed to overwhelm us quickly instead of slugging it out with the second-hand equipment they had._

 _They were barely trained, undisciplined and just as likely to hurt us, as they were themselves with the swords they were carrying, but goddam they look terrifying. The fight lasted for about a minute, and we took a few wounds, but we made them pay for every single one of them. About half the squad had hauled themselves out at that point and we could hear the other Peregrines and our escort craft flying in on our position._

 _Apparently, the White Fang heard it too, because they started breaking off into the trees. In an area with even just a little more open field, we would have been able to cut them down easily with our rifles. But because there was so much foliage around us, they only had to take a few steps to break line of sight. So we followed them, leaving another squad to jump in on our behalf and break out the pilot, who was trapped in the cockpit._

 _We moved quickly, but carefully, exchanging bullets and blades in the thicket of trees, constantly pinpointing the positions of the remaining White Fang with our Lieutenant, as he and the rest of the platoon circled about in the skies. Turned out that there were more groups of White Fang in the area, in case our Peregrine had crashed somewhere else._

 _Somewhere along the process of sweeping the area, we found one of those groups, about to scale the five metre high trees. Naturally, we opened fire on them. Some of them kept climbing, some of them jumped down. We shifted all of our fire to the latter, partly because our air elements still had a slim chance of tracking them, but also partly because one of the members of the group was aiming a missile launcher at us, specifically me._

 _A smart person would know that the launch of a missile results in an immense amount of exhaust, as it burns its fuel to reach whatever it needs to. A smart person would know that this means firing such a missile when one is in an enclosed space or against a surface makes for less than optimal results for the firer. A smart person would know that this is why newer shoulder-fired ordinance models use a soft launch or two-stage firing system to offset the majority of that back blast. A smart person would know that the launcher currently being aimed was NOT one of those newer models. And a smart person would most definitely have noticed that the launcher's rear was less than five centimetres from a tree trunk and would have refrained from firing and blowing out my legs._

 _That White Fang soldier…was not a smart person._

 _ **Pages 4-7 of 'The New Soldier' by Marcus Teach Kelly, published seven years after his medical discharge from the Vale Army.**_


End file.
